


I've Got a Thousand Stories

by coldairballoons



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket, All the Wrong Questions - Lemony Snicket
Genre: (Based off of my partners irl! :D), (But not fully?), Apprenticeship, Author as a Character, Case File, Friendship, Gen, Interns & Internships, Journalism, Letters, Minor Original Character(s), Newspapers, Notes, Postcards, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Trials
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29124756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldairballoons/pseuds/coldairballoons
Summary: Following the events of my mentor's Series of Unfortunate Events, a certain journalistic now-teenager and a journalistic then-teenager-turned-adult finally meet.(Title from Ghost Quartet's "I Don't Know")
Relationships: Duncan Quagmire & Moxie Mallahan, Moxie Mallahan & Lemony Snicket
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. The First Letters

**Author's Note:**

> This is purely self-indulgent, I just wanted to write Duncan and Moxie meeting.
> 
> Also, I want to be Lemony Snicket.

***

TO: BC

FROM: LS

FILE UNDER: Stain’d-by-the-Sea, accounts of; friendships (long-lost), apprenticeships (newfound), files under; Moxie Mallahan, the lighthouse,  _ The News. _

CC: VFDhq

B.,

I believe you might find this interesting during your time here, writing and whatnot. 

Please do it justice.

\- L.S. 

***

Contained is a letter, in an envelope, in a large yellow envelope. Within it, there is a laminated resume of one D. Quagmire, a bag full of article clippings, photographs, and scribbled notes.

***

To Ms. M. Mallahan, Associate of Mr. L. Snicket,  _ The News _ . 

  
  


Good day to you, Ms. Mallahan. (Typically, I would say “good evening” in greeting, as, depending on where you are, it’s bound to be evening somewhere, although, I fear that notion might not be understood through a message such as this.) You don’t know me, I’m afraid, as I doubt Mr. Snicket had brought me up in a letter--or even if he wrote to you about me, or my brother and sister. 

Shall we change that?

I suppose I should start this off fairly simply. Hello, my name is Duncan Quagmire, and I am a journalist. Or, I was, or, I am aspiring to be such. I, like the Baudelaire children, who you may be more likely to have heard of, whether from Mr. Snicket himself, or from the stories flooding in about their misguided guardians, or the malevolent Count Olaf shadowing their every move, am an orphan, and I, like Mr. Snicket, have two siblings.

I’m a triplet, actually, although up until recently, I was under the impression that my brother, Quigley, had perished in a terrible fire, the very same that took my parent’s lives from my siblings and I. Those around me constantly referred to Isadora (my sister) and I as “twins”, which is entirely incorrect, and on the record, we were, are, and will remain to be  _ triplets _ . 

I’m writing to you, sans my tragic backstory, of course, to both request a favor and to express my deepest admirations in regards to your work with  _ The News _ . My entire life, I have wanted to be a journalist, and to investigate and find out what “the news” is. I long to be in the streets, searching out the truth, and bringing justice to those who can’t bring it to themselves. When I learned of your connection to Mr. Snicket, I knew I simply had to write to you, and he kindly gave me your address, though, where he got it from, I’m quite unsure.

The favor I want to ask you is simple: I wish to work alongside you as a junior journalist. You know the (metaphorical) ropes, and I would love to sail alongside you in the (metaphorical) boat of an actual newspaper such as  _ The News _ , not something dull like  _ The Daily Punctilio _ . 

(Off the record, on that last bit.)

What I ask is fairly immature and fantastical, and I know it’s simply a childish request, but to be your apprentice, and work alongside you, would be an honor  _ and _ a privilege. 

Attached below is my resume, along with some samples of articles I’ve written for an independent paper, that, sadly, didn’t get very far along before there was a mysterious fire. I’ve also attached a small note from Mr. Snicket, which hasn’t been opened--though I’m a journalist, I also have morals, which, you’ll know better than others, is hard to find in the field of journalism.

Thank you so much, and please, have a good day.

Sincerely,

Duncan Quagmire,  _ The QuagTimes,  _ (disc.)

***

Attached, as promised, a note, written hastily on a napkin, folded in the shape of an envelope, and taped shut. The ink bleeds and is caught on the paper, making it seem more delicate than a good napkin should be.

***

Moxie,

I’m sorry that I haven’t called. Or written. Or sent a carrier pigeon. Or smoke signals. Or anything. Life got in the way, and, well… I’ve grown old, tired, and scared that you hate me. Or that you’ve forgotten.

Personally, I would prefer you hate me than forget me. At least, if you hate me, you’ll warn people about me, and keep my memory alive in Stain’d, whereas if you forgot me, when I die, I’ll just… die.

Please send me a message if you receive this. Or don’t. It’s up to you.

Your (hopeful) friend, 

\- Lemony Snicket. 

***

I take a sip of my coffee--overly sweet, just the way I typically take it. A jazz singer croons from somewhere in my apartment, probably singing about some lost love, or some forbidden life that she wants to lead. I wish I could lead a different life, I think to myself, and stare out the window of that damned apartment.

But I have a duty. To L.S., to Stain’d, to V.F.D., and most importantly, to the Quagmire triplets.

And to myself, though, that comes after what has been previously stated.

I look back down at my page of notes, my notebook already half-full with questions unanswered--How did Duncan Quagmire learn about Moxie Mallahan? How did Lemony Snicket get the address to Duncan Quagmire? And how will I find more?

Those might be the wrong questions.

But they’ll be answered. I’m sure of it.


	2. The Box, the Postcard, and the Beast.

***

TO: BC

FROM: LS

FILE UNDER: Stain’d-by-the-Sea, accounts of; replies (from former friends), apprenticeships (blooming), files under; postcards, framing--"railroading".

CC: VFDhq

B.,

This is the second installment of this case, which I’m regretful to inform you has, as you may suspect, a very anticlimactic and unhappy ending. What else would you expect?

\- L.S. 

***

The first thing I notice, as I open the box, is that it is, in fact, a box, rather than the envelope I had previously been sent. The box itself is roughly one foot long on all sides, one foot high, and one foot wide, and as I open it, something inside thunks up against the cardboard.

Finally, I get it open, and peer inside to see something wrapped in an opaque (a word which here means “non-translucent”, unable to be seen through) black cloth. Ink stains the inside of the box, and I reach down to pick up the “thing”.

It’s a fairly hefty weight, not what I would have suspected from the object, but as I lift it, a letter falls from where it had been tied onto the cloth. 

***

Mr. D. Quagmire, 

Hello, hello, hello! It was an honor and a pleasure to receive your letter. I’m dreadfully sorry to hear about your parents, although, I’m sure you have had your time to grieve. I know what it’s like to lose a parent (in one way or another), and I also know that sometimes, condolences aren’t what is needed.

As for your request, yes! A hearty yes!  _ The News _ is horribly understaffed, as you most likely know, and while I haven’t got the time to fill in every aspect of the paper by myself (advice sections and sports, mostly, who has time for good advice or running?) I just know that you’re going to have a knack for working with me!

I look forward to more of your letters, or, if you accept this offer, to see you in town!

Many thanks,

Moxie Mallahan,  _ The News _ .

(P.S.- While you’re out of town, perhaps you could return this for me. It belongs to an old friend.)

***

I unwrap the thing, and stare into the soulless, yet somehow intimidatingly terrifying, eyes of the one and only Bombinating Beast.

Snicket had told me about the thing, of course, but never in my wildest dreams would I be holding the item that caused so much strife in the small town of Stain’d-by-the-Sea. Its horrible, contorted face seemed to stare into my very being, and I set it down, pointedly facing it away from me.

In the box, there’s another letter, and I pick it up--and rather than a letter, it’s a folded postcard. 

***

I.Q. and Q.Q.,

Hello! Good evening! (Hopefully, although no matter where you are, it’s always evening somewhere.) I hope you’re both doing well, and I hope this letter finds you happy and healthy--for we all know that the three are not always mutual.

Greetings from Stain’d-by-the-Sea, from (one of) your favorite brother(s)! My apprenticeship is getting along nicely, and Ms. Mallahan is a lovely mentor.

She also gives great haircuts.

I hope to see you all soon! Take care!

D.Q.

***

I shudder. Unbeknownst to young Duncan Quagmire, his siblings were not, in fact, doing well, happy  _ or _ healthy, at least, not at the time of this letter.

Below it, in the box, there’s a newspaper clipping.

***

TEENAGE VAGABONDS CAPTURED!

N. Pseudo.

On the 23rd of November, two of the three Quagmire triplets finally were detained and are now 

in the presence of local authorities, awaiting trial. They face counts of petty theft, arson, and 

most dreadfully of all, murder. 

*** 

The article states the trial time--9am on that Sunday morning.

Duncan Quagmire wouldn’t hear about it until far later, until his siblings were in the custody of police. However, what he did know was that they were innocent. 

It is my job, readers, to bring to light the story of the Quagmire triplets, of Stain’d-by-the-Sea, and to ask the questions no one else will--Why were they convicted, and not the actual villain in charge of the crimes? When did Duncan Quagmire hear about it? And how did Moxie Mallahan help him? Where does the Bombinating Beast fit into this puzzle?

Sighing, I look to my window. T. and C. would know.

But T. and C. were long gone, vanished, without a trace. But that was a mystery for another time, one that I don’t understand. For now, I can solve these puzzles and questions about Duncan Quagmire, Moxie Mallahan, and Stain’d-by-the-Sea.

My mentor had received the letter that Ms. Mallahan sent to him a long time ago, and for personal reasons, he doesn’t wish for me to publish it. Though I have my regrets, I also have my theories about what it said.

But again, those are for another time.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, contact me at @coldairballoons, @locallemony and @bisexualwilliammurdoch on Tumblr! <3


End file.
